Change Comes From Words
by The Telepathic Hawk
Summary: Complete. Two years into a long, hard war Harry finds a letter of love written to him by the last person he ever expected. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters or plots contained therein, or anything to do with the franchise. Those belong to those who legally hold the rights. I just borrow the characters from time to time to have my own wicked way with them. I make no profit from this.

Author's Note: This is a SLASH fic. If you don't like that, please don't read it! This is my first Harry Potter fan-fiction, so please forgive me if it seems out of character at times. I love and appreciate reviews, but they're never a requirement for me to keep writing. I write because I love to write. However, if you do feel the need to flame this fic (And you have every right if you don't like it.) please refrain from foul language and attacks on my person. (Attacks on the work are just fine.) These kinds of flames do not get your point across any better than a civil flame. Thanks so much.

Dear Harry,

Sometimes I wonder what you'd do if I died in this war. Would you mourn for me? Of course you would. We've been best mates for years. Everyone in our world knows it. It would be expected. You'd mourn hard. But . . . you'd move on. You'd have to. Couldn't mourn my death forever. That would be selfish. If Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Golden Child, put his grief before his destiny, what's expected of him, it would be selfish. And you of all people cannot afford to be selfish. So, you'd probably get to mourn me for the time between my death and my funeral. A week maybe. Only a week to mourn the loss of a friendship, your first, almost ten years strong. But, that's okay. You can't be selfish. I would understand.

Would you avenge me, I wonder? Would you even have the chance to try? It comes down to selfishness yet again. Would it be too selfish of you to try to avenge me before you finished fulfilling your destiny? I like to think our frienship is enough that you'd be a little selfish and try to avenge me before you were able to completely heal. I like to think I'm at least that important to you.

I've never been able to tell you, but I know exactly what I'd do if you died. If Voldemort killed you.

I've known since our fourth year. I accidently walked in on you and Cedric in our dormitory when everyone else was supossed to be at evening meal. Neither of you ever saw me. You were both naked on the bed, Cedric on his back, his head thrown back, his eyes closed, his hands buried in your thick black hair. You were on your knees inbetween his spead legs, your hands gripping his hips. Strong hands. Holding him down as he tried to arch up into your sweet mouth. But, you wouldn't let him. You contolled his pleasure until he was moaning and begging you to let him release. Only then did you release his hips and reach up to tweak his nipples as he came in your mouth. He called you beautiful, brilliant, as you crawled back up his body and kissed him sweetly. He said you were learning fast and reached down between you to stroke your heavy cock. You shuddered and moaned in his arms as he sucked your neck and brought you quickly to climax. I slipped out quietly then.

It confused me, Harry, because for the first time in my life the only thing I could think was that I wanted to be that person with you on the bed. Not Cedric. But, what to do? How could I tell you? There was no way. So, I never told anyone. And I went on with my life as it was expected of a teenage boy. But, when I stroked myself at night, even when I lost my viginity to Lavender, the only person I could see when I came was you.

I wonder now a lot whether Cedric was the only man you'd ever consider doing what you did with. You dated my sister, after all, even though that's been over for years. Was Cedric a one time thing and you love women? Or are you like me and you long for the feel of a man in your arms? Though I wonder about myself sometimes, too. I still find women attractive, but the only person I want in my arms is you.

I've come to a conclusion and as I sit here watching you sleep it is only strengthened. I love you, Harry Potter. I have a feeling you will be the only person I ever really love.

Hermoine knows. We've sat for hours together late at night, usually after a battle. We hold each other and we talk. We wonder how no one has ever put together that though we flirt and pretend that we're circiling around each other, just waiting for the right time, we never actually connect. It's all a ruse. Always has been. To protect Viktor, whom she absolutely still adores, and to protect me from anyone finding out. My reasons are the more selfish, as you can tell. She tells me more and more often lately that I should just tell you, get it over with. But somehow, I can't.

And I never will. I won't put our friendship in danger just because it kills me just a little more every day to see you and not be able to hold you.

But, anyway, what I'd do if you died. First, I would kill the one who had killed you. Even if it was Voldemort himself, there would be nothing on this earth or in the heavens that could stop me from killing the one who took you from me. Then, for all the world to see, I would kiss your lips for the first time. I imagine they would be as sweet in death as I imagine them to be in life. Then, I would let myself die. Slowly. I would want to feel the pain.

It all sounds a bit morbid, doesn't it? I suposse that's just how it is.

The sun's coming up now. So, I'm going to finish this letter, address it to you, and hide it under my bed. If I do die in this war, I'd want you to know what I feel. Even if I'll never actually tell you myself. When I die, my mother will find the letter as she's crying over all the things that she has to pack away. I know she'll give it to you. And then you'll know. But, please don't hate me, Harry. I love you so much.

You're so beautiful, Harry, with the first rays of light slanting over your face. Just thought I'd tell you.

I love you,

Ron


	2. Chapter 2

All Previous Disclaimers Apply.

Ron.

Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Golden Child, had only one thought in his mind as he surveyed the torn battlefield, the many bodies scattered motionless among the fogged wood. Some he knew to be on his side. Some he knew to be his enemies. He felt regret for all of them. He stumbled forward, always forward, kneeling painfully next to every new body he encountered.

"Oh, Seamus," he felt a single hot tear streak down his cheek as he turned over the lifeless body of his year-mate, his good friend. One of the few he had still felt he had. His hand trembling, he reached out and closed the young man's lifeless eyes so that they would not stare forever into the void. He deserved to rest in peace.

Again. It was all happening again. Ever since Voldemort and his followers had taken their private magic war public to the other witches and wizards of the world as well as all of the muggles this same scene had happened again and again. And it was always someone new. Always someone Harry cared about. As if the Death Eaters knew that he would be the one always left alive. Always walking the battlefields when the killing was over for the day. Harry could close his eyes and see countless other faces found in the same position as Seamus. Lee, Cho, Ginny, Percy, Penelope, Moody, Tonks, Luna . . . the list was never ending. But, there was only one person he was looking for right now. Only one person he had to see before he could let everything wash over him. Before he could let himself breathe.

Ron. Ron, please. Too long. He's always here before now. Too long. Where is he?

He took a deep breath, attempted to call his best friend's name, doubled over when heavy coughing racked his weakened frame. He braced his hands on his knees and waited for it to pass. It always passed. He wiped the blood away from his mouth with a resigned sigh. The one thing he needed was the one thing he could not afford at all right now. Rest. He needed more than a half day to simply rest, heal. No time. No time to rest. No time to heal. No time to breathe until he could see that Ron was safe.

"Harry!" Harry turned his face toward the voice and said a small prayer of thanks when Hermoine stumbled toward him out of the fog, Viktor at her side. She was bleeding from a small gash in just above her left eye and he cradled his left arm close to his chest, but they both seemed to be as close to fine as they could be, so the bands around his chest loosened in the slightest.

"Ron," he murmured as Hermoine hugged him close, then ran her hands over his face and chest as if checking him for wounds, "Have you seen him? Do you know where he is?"

"No. We . . ." she stopped suddenly, looking down at their feet, "Oh, God. Seamus. Oh, no." She turned away and Viktor took her into his arms, turning her head away from the sight, whispering comfort that only they could understand in his native language. Harry felt panic seize his mind, blocking all thought except that he had to find Ron. Now.

"I have to find him," Harry mumbled, his wild eyes and strained tone making Viktor and Hermoine look up, worried, "I have to find him now!"

"Harry!" Viktor called as Harry spun around on his heels and ran. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew where he was heading. It didn't even make sense in his own mind. He had no idea where he was. This battle was the first time he'd been to this particular wood, yet somehow as he ran everything was familiar, as if he had seen it all in a dream. Or through eyes not his own. He felt it instinctively. He was heading for Ron. He needed to reach Ron. There was no time.

No time? No time for what? What was happening? Even as he ran, Harry grabbed his head. Somehow he knew where Ron was, but he didn't know why. Somehow he knew Ron was in trouble, but he didn't know in what way. All he knew was that he needed to be by Ron's side. Now.

And suddenly, he was. He stopped in his tracks, breathing hard, gazing at the man he loved laying on the ground not far from him now.

Love? He took a step back in surprise. Did he love Ron? He shook his aching head. Of course he did. The same way he loved Hermoine.

He'd been so panicked to get to Ron . . . what was stopping him now? Now that he saw that Ron was on the ground? Suffering.

"Ron!" He ran the last few steps and fell to his knees next to Ron.

"'Arry," Ron gasped, his breaths were shallow and rasping, but Harry could find no physical wound on him as he took the young fire-headed man into his arms and looked him over as best he could in the gray light.

"Ron," Harry held his best friend closer and didn't even realize it as he pressed a light kiss to Ron's temple, "What is it? Tell me what happened to you. Tell me how to help you."

"Don' know if you can, mate," Ron gasped in pain and his body arched away from Harry's arms with it. Harry held him closer again, "Not this time. 'E hit me with somethin'. Don' know what it was. But it hurts."

"Hurts? Well, just hang on until Hermoine gets here. She'll put you to sorts. She's as good as any Mediwitch."

"Yeah," Ron murmured, his body stilling and his eyes beginning to close, "Good as any Mediwitch. . ."

"Ron!" Harry shook him, "Don't you dare give in. Open your eyes. Look at me."

"'Arry," Ron lifted a trembling hand to Harry's face, "Beautiful. Beautiful, 'Arry. Wanted to see you one more time. Please don't . . ."

"Ron," Harry's voice took on a desperate edge, "Ron, please don't leave me."

"Never . . . never." Suddenly Ron's body went stiff again, "'Arry. Dark. Don' let it take me! Don' let it! 'Arry, hold me! Don' let it get . . ."

"Ron?" Harry felt the tears streak down his cheeks as Ron's body went limp in his arms, "Ron?" He shook him a little, turned his face up, and let out a strangled sound when he saw the peaceful expression on Ron's lax face, "Oh, no, Ron. No. No, please. Come back. Come back. Please, Ron. You can't leave me like this. You can't. Please. Come back." He didn't even notice as a strangled sound of pure pain was released from his throat. He held Ron close and rocked gently, his silent sobs racking his body.

"No," he looked up through eyes swimming with tears as Hermoine and Viktor finally caught up with them. Hermoine was looking at him with eyes both horrified and saddened. Viktor turned away as if he couldn't bear to look as she fell bonelessly to her knees next to them.

"Ron," she whispered, and traced a finger over his still features, rested a hand against his chest. Harry looked up at her again when she let out a gasp and set two fingers to Ron's neck.

"Hermoine?" he questioned.

"He's alive, Harry," she whispered, "He's alive. There's still hope."


	3. Chapter 3

All previous disclaimers apply.

"Back again, Harry?"

Harry Potter was awakened rudely from his sitting doze by the quiet, sad voice. For a moment he blinked confusedly, certain that the voice belonged to Albus Dumbledore. He had been asked the same exact question before by the man and just after his mumbled answer had been given some of the soundest advice he had ever received. But, tired as he was, heartsick as he was, and no matter how much he needed some sound advice right at the moment he knew through his sleep clouded mind that Albus Dumbledore was dead. He had been killed by Severus Snape nearly two and a half years earlier. No amount of wishing he was here to impart even just a few words of wisdom was going to raise him from the dead. So, he took off his glasses, wiped the last remains of sleep from his eyes, shook his head a little to clear it of sleep, and turned to look at who had spoken.

"Seems you can't come awake on a dime like Hermoine and Viktor either. I envy them that. It would be a good skill to have. Take a moment and wake up."

Arthur Weasley smiled gently at the young man blinking at him like an owl. After a moment Harry shook his head again and put his glasses back on.

" 'm awake," he mumbled, pushing his unruly black hair away from his eyes and beginning to stand.

"Don't get up," Arthur held up a hand, "No need for protocol or politeness here. This is a place for family. No change today?"

"None," Harry sighed and sat back down as Arthur walked completely into the room and sat in the chair next to Harry's. For a moment they were both silent as they gazed upon the figure in the bed.

Ronald Weasley could have been sleeping were it not for the few telltale signs to the contrary. His pale face was peaceful, his breathing was even. And yet, the very thing that allowed him to breathe evenly was the one thing that Harry had hated to see on him more than anything else. For the past six months this room at Saint Mungo's had belonged to Ron Weasley. Ever since the day Harry had found him on the battlefield, wounded and, by all appearances, on the edge of death. But, Ron hadn't died. His enemies hadn't been that kind. Ron lived on, looking like he was sleeping peacefully. A sleep, it seemed, he would never wake from. All poisons had been ruled out and the spell was impossible to trace.

Harry had told the mediwitches and wizards that in the muggle world this was called a coma. It had caught on with them. For six months they had faithfully taken care of the prone young wizard. A modified bubble charm made certain that there was always a flow of oxygen to his lungs. Enchanted sleeps, poisons, they knew how to deal with such things, but no matter what they tried he just stayed asleep. And so, they tended to him as if he were any other patient that would wake soon enough.

That was, they tended to him when Harry allowed it. For six months he had been at Saint Mungo's every day it was possible, sitting by Ron's bed, talking to him as if they were having a conversation. With the help of one of Ron's family, Hermoine, Viktor, or any number of any of their friends, he spooned broth down Ron's throat, bathed him with sponges, exercised the muscles in his legs and arms so that when Ron came to they would still be useable, if a bit weak. Harry never allowed himself to think in terms of if. It was always when. When Ron woke up. Harry had every confidence that someday Ron would wake up. He had to. There was no other option.

"None" Harry repeated quietly and shook his head, "No change. How's Fred?"

"Fine. He's going to be just fine. A bit sore for a while. If . . . if anyone attacks in the next week or so he won't be much help, but . . . He's going to be fine."

"Has you-know-who had any luck in finding where Voldemort is hiding yet?" It always gave Harry a bitter, ironic amusement that at one time you-know-who had been used to describe Voldemort himself and now, for the members of the Order, it had come to stand for the one ally they had in the Death Eaters. They never spoke his name, just in case. Spies could be anywhere.

"No. His last report came in just before I left. 'S why I'm here to see you actually. He's still not sure of Voldemort's location, but he's confident that he will know soon. Because of some of our little staged theatrics he's quickly becoming a favorite among Voldemort's generals."

"And he's safe?" Harry pressed.

"As safe as can be expected, given his current situation."

"Good. I'd rather not lose any more friends to this bloody war." Every once in a while things became to hard for Harry to hold in. As hard as he tried to prevent it, his voice and mind betrayed him and he continued, "Why doesn't he just come out of hiding, Arthur? This war is as miserable for his followers as it is for us! More so, considering how many he's lost. Why can't we just end it all? I'm so tired of blood, of pain. I'm so tired of battles and the whole world living in fear of where he'll strike next just to draw us out!"

"We're all tired of it Harry." Arthur set a steadying, comforting hand to Harry's shoulder and spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, "War is hell. That is why he won't finish it. He likes the turmoil, Harry. He likes the turmoil and grief of a father when his children are killed in cold blood. He especially loves the hell it puts his greatest enemy in when he comes back day after day to his best mate's beside only to know that his best mate is still there just as he was when he left. He loves the hell his greatest enemy puts himself through when every day he blames himself for what happened on that battlefeild. He shouldn't have left him alone. He should have been there to protect him. These killing thoughts give Voldemort pleasure. He loves the hell that the young man is put through when every day he questions if there was something else he should have done. If there was anything else he could have done while he sat in the mud with his best mate in his arms. He loves the hell caused when everyone else knows there was not and does not blame this young man, but the young man can not help but blame himself." Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at Ron as Arthur fixed him with a peircing gaze. Yes, he did balme himself. He had a feeling he always would. How could he not? But, before he could say anything at all Arthur let him off the hook and began speaking again, "He likes the hell that has overtaken the planet because of his war. Until he knows that he is strong enough to kill you and keep the planet in this hell for all of time it will continue and he will not come out." They were both silent for long moments, Arthur lost in his thoughts, Harry trying to get his confused and mourning heart back under control.

"Was there . . ." Harry blinked back tears and cursed himself when his voice broke, "Was there anything else you needed to report to me?"

"No. Just that. I'd best get home now. You know how Molly worries. Will you be along for supper?"

Harry just nodded. Arthur stood and began walking toward the door.

"Try to smile, will you? For Molly? She cleaned out Ron's things from the bedroom today. Before I forget . . ." he handed Harry a letter in handwriting Harry recognized to be Ron's. Harry gasped as his heart jumped into his throat and looked up at Arthur. Arthur rolled his shoulder in a half shrug, "She found it under his bed. No one's read it."

Harry looked down at the letter for a moment, tracing his name written on the heavy parchment in the untidy scrawl. When he looked back up Arthur was gone. He stood and walked to the only window in the room. He didn't understand why, but his hands were shaking as he unfolded the parchment and began to read.

Dear Harry,

Sometimes I wonder what you'd do if I died in this war. Would you mourn for me? Of course you would. We've been best . . .


	4. Chapter 4

All previous disclaimers apply.

Author's Note: Please remember this was written before Deathly Hallows!

"You knew about this, didn't you?" Harry was yelling even as he kicked open the door to the room Hermoine and Viktor shared at The Burrow. The room that had once been Ginny's. After Snape had betrayed them all, killed Dumbledore, and gone back to Voldemort Grimauld Place had no longer been safe for any of them. Snape knew how to get in, was accepted by the house. There was no way they could stay there anymore. Not until the war was over and every last Death Eater locked up or dead, anyway. And so The Burrow, which Snape had never cared about enough to learn the location of, had become the new headquarters for the Order, with as many magical protections that all of them could think of placed upon it to keep it hidden and safe.

Harry was so angry he couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight, couldn't be embarrassed at all as a very naked Viktor rolled off of the bed in his surprise and Hermoine grasped for the sheet to wrap it around herself to cover her own nudity. Viktor stood sheepishly, pulling on a pair of loose fitting pajama bottoms. Hermoine simply sat in the middle of the bed, gasping the sheet to her chest, and glaring at Harry with eyes whose anger matched his own. Viktor leaned over and placed a kiss to her cheek even though she didn't even look at him as he did so.

"Be kind and patient," he murmured in his native language, stroking her hair, "We have been expecting this, yes? We knew it would happen. Be kind and patient. He is confused. I will be downstairs with Arthur and Molly if you need me." He closed the door gently behind him when he left, leaving the two old friends still staring off with each other, both of their chests heaving in anger.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Hermoine broke first, her eyes softening as she tucked the sheet more sturdily around herself so that she didn't have to hold it anymore, "You sure picked an opportune time."

"You knew about this, Hermoine, didn't you?" he demanded again, holding up the letter.

She simply held her hand out for it. He crossed the room, set the letter in her hand, and crossed his arms as he waited for her to read it. Her eyes filled with tears as they darted back and forth over the words that had rocked Harry's world so greatly. She set an hand to her mouth and held back a sob.

"Oh, Ron," she whispered, "You did tell him." She looked up at Harry, "I . . ." her voice broke and she started again, "I knew about his . . . his feelings for you, yes. But not this letter. He never told me about this letter. I told him so many times to tell you, but he never could. So, I guess he's told you the only way he thought he can now. Why are you so angry, Harry? Why? He loved you! He loved you with all his heart and he would have done anything to protect you! Are you angry because of that love? Because you feel it could be tainted? Because he was a man? How could he be tainted when you yourself . . . and Cedric . . . and . . ."

"Don't say that," Harry felt tears in his own eyes, "Don't you ever say that!" He took hold of her wrist to hold her still and pulled back his arm. When she shrunk away he realized what he was about to do, and with a strangled cry, pushed her back on the bed. He whirled around and knocked everything from the dresser. He tore across the room like a man possessed, destroying anything he could. Beautiful little figurines shattered into a million pieces, books were torn form their bindings. Tears streamed down his face, blinding him, as pushed over a sitting chair, punched the mirror until it shattered into a million pieces on the floor and his hands were bloodied. He didn't feel the pain in them, or in his knees, as he sank to the floor among the glass. Then, something he had not done since he had returned to the Triwizard Stadium with Cedric's body in tow. Harry Potter began to sob. Great gasping cries and howls that he could not keep in. All his pain, all his anger, every thing he had been holding in for two and a half years. Everything came out in the great, almost childlike sobs.

"Harry," Hermoine fell to her knees next to him in the glass and pulled him into her embrace as tears rolled down her cheeks as well, "Harry," she began to rock him, unable to form any more words, just cooing in an attempt to calm as he howled and raged in her arms, clinging to her, grasping on to the one steady thing in his ever changing world.

Neither of them knew how long they stayed that way. It could have been minutes or hours before his cries slowed and gentled until they were just mewling hurts.

"Why are you so angry, Harry?" Hermoine whispered, needing to know the reasons Harry had come bursting through her door, ready to strike at even her.

"No one ever told me," Harry murmured around his gasping breaths as he tried to draw air into his lungs after so large an emotional draining, "No one ever told me a damn thing. So long. Did you see the date on the letter, Hermoine? A year before . . . " he trailed off.

"Longer than that," Hermoine looked him in the eyes as her voice shook.

"How long?" he asked.

"Sixth year. Just after he broke it off with Lavender. It was the first time he told me."

"Three years." Harry felt the tears come again, "And he never told me. So much time wasted, 'Moine. Because I was too much the coward to go to him and tell him just how much I wanted him. Just how much I loved him. So many times I wanted to! So many times, but I thought . . . and then Viktor came back . . . and I still didn't go to him because I was such a coward!" He was sobbing again and clinging to her like a life line and he didn't care in the slightest, "After Cedric I thought there could never be anything like what I felt with him. But . . . Ron, always there, always willing to be my best friend no matter how I acted. I didn't want to fall in love with him, but there he was. All the time! And one morning I woke up and there it was. I was in love with my best friend, with all his faults and all of his quirks. And it was so much more than Cedric and I couldn't tell him!"

"Harry," Hermoine pulled him closer and began to rock again, her own tears starting again, "Harry . . . shh . . . shh, love . . . Harry, love . . ." It didn't matter what she was saying, not to him and not to her, she just couldn't stay silent as he continued.

"Every day I saw him, I wanted to hold him. Every time he mourned I wanted to mourn with him, to kiss away his tears. I knew his every breath, his every thought, all except this. And now . . . now it's all too late! Every moment is agony. Like a dagger sticking itself into my heart. And I want him back, 'Moine! I want him back so bad! I can't live without him! I need him! I need him in my arms, in my life. I need him, 'Moine. I love him so much!"

"He'll find a way back to us," Hermoine rocked him slowly as both of their tears stopped, run dry, "He's not gone to us, Harry. Just a little bit lost. We'll help him find the way home. Home to friends and family . . . and love." She pushed him out at arm's length and cupped his face in her hands, "It is not too late, Harry Potter, and I am never to hear you say that again. It's never too late. Not for love. We'll help him find his way home so that you can tell him everything in your heart."

Harry looked into her resolved eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded.

"I love you, Hermoine Granger."

"And I you, Harry Potter." They both smiled around swollen, red eyes, heads that pounded, and noses so stuffed they felt swollen to the size or oranges. Hermoine reached out with the corner of the sheet in her hand and wiped the last tears away from Harry's eyes.

"Hermoine?"

"Yes, love?"

"It's a good thing I'm not into women." She cocked her head to the side, questioning, "Because you'd be very tempting right now if I were."

She looked down and gasped, realizing that at some point while she was holding him the sheet had come loose and she was now kneeling before him in nothing but her own skin, the sheet pooled around her. She was stunned into speechlessness and snatched it up to tuck around her self once more.

"Come on," Harry stood and winced at the pain of the glass embedded in his palms and knees, knowing that Hermoine's knees were in the same condition, "Let's go have Molly perform a healing charm. I wouldn't trust either of us to do it right now." Hermoine nodded and took his offered hand gingerly so as not to cause him any more pain.

"We are going to help Ron find a way back to us," she whispered as they walked down the hall, fingers loosely entwined.

Harry nodded, "Bet your ass we are."


	5. Chapter 5

All previous disclaimers apply.

Author's note: I really didn't know how to put the whole horocrux idea into this fic since Harry wants to be as close to Ron as often as possible, so I just decided to practice selective memory and pretend that it never happened in the books. So, for the purpose of this fic, as I'm sure you've probably figured out, Dumbledore was still killed, but Harry, Ron, and Hermoine are not going to go looking for horocruxes. Harry just has to eventually kill Voldemort.

"We're so close, Ron," Harry whispered to the still form of the man he loved in the hospital bed. He took Ron's hand and rubbed it against his cheek gently. He wanted so badly to feel Ron do it himself, that the need was almost palpable. He satisfied himself with laying next to Ron on the bed, laying his head on his shoulder, and wrapping an arm around his waist. How could he have ever thought even for the slightest moment that the love he felt for Ron was the same type of love that he felt for Hermoine? The love he felt for Hermoine was a glow, an "I'd do anything to protect you" feel, a love that never hurt, but always encouraged. The love he felt for Ron, the love he had always felt for Ron he admitted silently to himself, was a concentrated beam of light that shot straight into his heart. It filled him up and left him trembling at the least expected moments. It was an "I'd die without you," kind of love. It often hurt, but it was just so much more than he had ever expected that the hurt was far outweighed by the joy that it brought him. It was the type of love he might have shared with Cedric had he lived.

Cedric. There was always a little tugging at his heart whenever he thought of Cedric and he hoped it would never go away. Cedric had been the first person Harry had ever shared his heart with. The first one he'd ever opened up to. Cedric had been a kind and patient teacher when showing him the different ways men could show their love for each other. Cedric had taken his virginity. Two nights after the task in the lake, Cedric had allowed Harry to make love to him. Harry hadn't been able to help himself when it came to Cedric. He'd always questioned why he felt more attracted to the other boys in his dorm than to any of the girls in his year, but he'd thought it just a stage. Cedric had shown him that it wasn't just a stage and that it was perfectly natural to love another man in such a way. When Cedric had whispered to him, as they lay quietly together out in the space they had made for themselves in the Shrieking Shack, that he loved him the night before the final task, Harry had believed it. And thought he meant it when he whispered the same words back. He knew, as they made love by candlelight, that they would have to hide it, as they had through most of the year, at least until he was out of school, but just the fact that Cedric loved him was enough to make the thought bearable.

Then, Cedric had been taken away in the most violent way possible. Harry had finally realized that what he had whispered to Cedric the night before had been the truth, because now his heart was breaking. Cho had thought that she was heartbroken over Cedric. He'd never even kissed her. There were many nights that Harry had lain in his bed, sobbing quietly into his pillow, wishing that Cedric was lying next to him, holding him while they whispered about their hopes and their dreams, the pain what was expected of them had put them both through, and what they thought they'd do after Harry graduated from Hogworts. For nearly a year Harry had walked around in a fog, though none of his friends saw it, just waiting for death to come to him. But, one day, about three quarters of the way into fifth year something remarkable had happened. Ron had opened the curtains to Harry's bed, handed him his glasses, told him it was time to get up, and smiled.

And Harry had fallen in love with him.

Completely and totally in love. With Cedric it had been a steady building. With Ron it was all there at one time, taking his breath away so thoroughly that Ron had asked him if he was okay. Harry hadn't known what to do. Ron was circling around Hermoine and he was supposed to still be head over heels for Cho. So, he just let it go. For a little bit it had seemed to dim until he was back in the steady glow of friendship with Ron and everything was how it had always been. Eventually Harry had been able to convince himself that it had never happened. That the feeling was the remains of a dream, probably about Cedric. But, the feeling had come back at the most unexpected times. When he had been comforting Ron at both Percy and Ginny's funerals, when they had found each other perfectly safe after their first true battle, when Ron had been the first to accept that the one who had once been one of their enemies would turn to their side as soon as he'd been able to find them without being caught by any of his fellow Death Eaters. Every time, Harry was able to find some reason that what he felt was just the result of something else and that it would never come back again once it had faded into friendship again.

But, then the last time, when Harry had found Ron lying on the ground in so much pain, it had come back full force. And it was still as bright as ever now that Ron's letter had made Harry admit his own feelings. He loved Ron with all his heart. And it might be selfish, as Ron had mentioned in his letter, but Harry now thought that defeating Voldemort would have to come second. He would worry about Voldemort once Ron opened his eyes as Harry was able to tell him that he loved him. It was the way it had to be. What kind of world were they trying to save if war came before love.

"War should never come before love," Molly had told him after he had shown Ron's letter to his parents and admitted to them that he truly did love him in return, almost three months prior. Since that time, there had been more battle, more losses, but they were gaining ground. Now all Harry had to do was find Voldemort. He wanted everything to be over, "Long after all the wars of the planet are done love will endure. It is the only thing that endures. Somehow I think, Harry, that your love might be more powerful and mean more to the war than you think. And I can't tell you how much joy it brings me to know that it is directed at our Ron. If anyone can bring him back, it will be you. The one he loves." Arthur had been overwhelmed, but he'd smiled and nodded in agreement, letting Harry know that he understood and accepted the love that would be shared between his youngest son and the young man who stood before him, the same one he had been thinking of as his son for years as well, when his son woke.

For the three months since he had been given the letter, the love Harry felt for Ron had only grown. He still visited Ron as often as he could, but now he laid in the bed with him, spoke quietly, gently, of how much he loved him. He never said anything about the battles, but chose only hopeful topics to relate to Ron instead. He spoke to him about everything and nothing, but now his voice was gentle. He told him about Cedric, laid next to him, held his hand, kissed his forehead, his cheek, his palm, all things to simply let the still young man know he was loved and that when he woke up Harry would be there and they could start their lives together.

"We're so close. I can feel it. You-know-who has been working as hard as he can among Voldemort's forces to try to find out who cast the spell on you and what spell they cast. He's got it narrowed down to only four people. Soon, Ron. I'm going to find out what was done to you, and then I'm going to bring you back to me. There's so much we still have to share, so much life ahead of us. Do you know what I want to do after this war is over? I want to marry you. I want you to have my name and me to have yours. Then, maybe, children. I'm sure there will be plenty of war orphans. We can give as many as you want a good home. I just hope you want a lot, because I want us to have a big house that's always full of love and laughter, and fights, and slamming doors. And every night when all of the kids are settled down, I want to take you back to a room we call ours and make love with you until neither of us can move. Except on nights when there are thunderstorms. Because on nights when there are thunderstorms I want to look into your eyes over the heads of our babies who are scared by the storm and ask to sleep in our bed and know that that moment in time, right there, is where we belong. And then, one day when all the kids are gone and we've seen our grand babies and our great grand babies, I want to hold you close as we both say goodnight and close our eyes to the world together. That's what I want. Because I love you, Ron Weasley. So much. And soon, I'm going to find out what I have to do to bring you back to me."

"Hopefully sooner than you think," a rasping voice brought Harry out of his quiet admittance. He turned to the doorway to see their Death Eater ally, leaning heavily against the frame, grasping his side, blood matting his light hair and flowing down his face, into one of his gray eyes.

"Draco?" Harry sat up in the bed, then jumped to his feet, when his friend groaned and slipped down the wall until he was sitting. Harry ran to him, calling out for a mediwitch, and knelt next to him, placing his own hand over the large wound that Draco had been covering.

"Don't worry about me," Draco used his free hand and gripped Harry's robe against the pain, managing a half smile, "I'll be fine. I'm not going to tell you that it doesn't hurt, because it hurts like hell, but it won't kill me."

"What happened?"

"I found out who did it, Harry. I found out. Then, I was found out. They took me to Voldemort himself for punishment. He said that if I was willing to ally myself with mudbloods and blood traitors and muggles, then I may as well die like a muggle. But, none of them have ever beat a man to death before. So, when I stopped moving, they thought that was it. They didn't even check my pulse, stupid blighters. I waited until they were all gone. That wasn't three miles from here, Harry, but they would have moved on by now. I'm sorry."

"No, Draco," Harry smiled at him warmly, "Don't be sorry. We shouldn't have asked so much of you for so long. You've done all you can."

Draco Malfoy had been one person that Harry had never expected to ally himself with, especially after what had happened at the end of their sixth year. But, truly, Draco had never been an evil person. Deep inside he was really just confused, torn between love for his father and what he knew was right. When Voldemort had let his father die in Azkaban after a failed attempt to break some of his more loyal followers out, Draco had finally seen Voldemort and his actions for what they were. Evil. But, he could not risk leaving the death eaters for fear of his mother's safety. He had proven first to Ron that he had no loyalty to Voldemort when they had been lost in underground caves during a three day battle and fought to keep each other alive. Then, he had given Ron information about attacks being planned, Death Eater induction ceremonies, and the like. Every battle he found one of them and gave them more information until they had worked out a small spell with mirrors and calm surfaces that allowed him to communicate with any of them at any given time. At first they had been wary of his loyalty, but he'd proved it to them when he had never asked for any of their plans. He had just given them information. Soon, he was a full-fledged member of the Order. They saw him once every three or four months when he could get out and worried for him every day.

Slowly, they had all come to know the Draco that had been hidden all of his life under the expectations of his father, the fear that had been so much a part of his upbringing. They had all come to know the Draco who loved to read poetry by firelight, who hurt when he saw small animals injured, who was so unsure of himself that even venturing an opinion made him feel sick. This was the Draco they had all come to know and love. This was the Draco Molly and Arthur had taken as their own after Draco's mother had committed suicide. This was the Draco that Charlie Weasley had fallen in love with. It had not come as a surprise to anyone but Draco when, the last time Draco had been able to sneak away for two days, pretending that he was going to see to the affairs of his household, Charlie had asked Draco to marry him. Charlie had been nervous and unsteady in his anticipation. He had been Draco's lover despite his own foolish reservations about their age differences for almost all of the war and he loved him desperately. Draco had been sweet in his surprise and disbelief of the question. He loved Charlie desperately, but he had never thought Charlie would want to marry him. He didn't think he deserved it. Charlie had kissed him until he couldn't think anymore and asked him again. Harry could see the engagement ring hanging from the chain around Draco's neck. Two days, he remembered, just two days from now Draco was supposed to come to them again and the two lovers would be married in secret with all their friends and family surrounding them.

"Harry," Draco gasped and arched off the wall in pain.

"Where is that mediwitch?" Harry screamed, knowing Draco was hurt much worse than he was letting on.

"Harry," Draco repeated, coughing. He covered his mouth with his sleeve and when he pulled it away Harry saw blood on it, "Harry, it was Voldemort. Voldemort cast the spell. He told me himself. He has this theory that if Ron's gone and Hermoine's gone you're nothing. But, he doesn't want them dead. He knows that you'd blame yourself, get sloppy in your fighting. He's getting desperate, Harry. He'll do anything. Keep her safe, Harry. Keep her away from him. I'm sorry, he didn't tell me how to break the spell. Harry?"

"Yeah, Draco?"

"Kill him. Kill him and set us all free, yeah?"

"Yeah, Draco. I will."

"I would have liked to have seen Charlie one last time. Tell him I love him . . ." Draco's eyes unfocused slowly, the hand gripping Harry's robe went lax, and he went limp. Before Harry had a chance to shout again there were four mediwitches and wizards hovering around. Before he knew it, Draco was on a stretcher being rushed down the hall and Harry was kneeling alone.

He bowed his head. Draco hadn't been dead when he'd been rushed away. Just unconscious. And if the people of Saint Mungo's did their jobs right he wouldn't die, but still. Harry felt a burning anger in his heart that he had never felt before. It was not hatred. He was thinking much too clearly for it to be hatred. No, it was something else entirely. It was angry resolve. With everything that had happened, he felt like he was finally ready. One way or another. Tonight would be it. Tonight would end everything. Harry would see to it. He stood, his head still bowed and gripped his wand until he knuckles were white. In his mind's eye he watched everyone he knew pass. All smiling, as they had in better times. They would smile that way again. Then, all those who had died in the war, his parents, Cedric. They all nodded to him as if they understood. Then Ron, simply smiling. And Harry knew he was ready. He knew what he had to do. When he lifted his head, his eyes were hard, cold, and the most stunning green ever seen. It was time.

Everyone moved out of his way as he slowly and resolutely walked toward the door. His destiny was just on the other side. It was time he faced it. The doors flew open as he came to them and he stood, looking out at the street, where Voldemort stood, alone, waiting.

"Are you ready for this, Harry Potter?" he questioned.

Harry looked at him, sneered, "Are you?"


	6. Chapter 6

All previous disclaimers apply.

"Viktor," Hermoine moaned her longtime lover's name as they lay on the bed together, bodies entwined as they had been the first time they'd made love, before they knew how to rush their pleasure. Before they knew what they were doing at all. He laid in-between her legs, thrusting into her willing body slowly and deeply as she hooked one leg on his hip and rubbed the back of his calf with the other. She was grateful, however, that this wasn't their first time, though the sweetness and care of it was recreated. Their first time together, in the summer she had visited him between fourth and fifth years, he had not lasted half a dozen strokes before he had come, shuddering and whispering to her that he was sorry. She had told him that it was okay, though it had all been a little disappointing to her, until he had crawled down her body and used his tongue on her until she was moaning his name and trembling with her own release. Then, he'd crawled back up her body, kissed her soundly, and they'd fallen asleep, wrapped around each other.

They had spent the next four years finding only secret times to sneak away and see each other, making love and getting better at it every time they did. Until, he had decided that he had had enough of her protecting him by pretending that they were not in love. He would no longer sit by and wait for news that she had been killed in a war while he sat, being protected by her. So, one night, a little over a year and a half previous to that very night, he had come to her when all was dark and quiet and had made love to her with a quiet desperation that she had echoed in the way she held him, the way she cried when she came. He had not gone and in the morning Ron Weasley had found them wrapped up in each other and told them that it was about bloody time. They had been inseparable ever since the day and neither cared anymore just who saw them or who knew that they were in love. They protected each other and were stronger for it.

"Viktor!" she called out again, a little louder. He looked down at her to see the tears in her eyes, but knew that this time they were happy tears, completed tears, not desperate tears as they had been in the past. She wrapped her arms around his strong back and crushed her lips to his as he moaned from deep in the back of his throat and she trembled and they both fell over the edge together.

"I love you," he whispered, even as his body shook with exhaustion, kissing her forehead, her neck, her nose, finally joining his lips with hers so that they could share a deep, long kiss.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Marry me," he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Yes," she answered simply and dragged his mouth down to hers again. With a free hand he reached into the night stand and brought out the midnight velvet box he had hidden there earlier in the day. The tears in her eyes finally fell when he supported himself on one hand, opened the box, and slid the ring onto her finger with the free hand. It was a simple little thing, no stones, no fuss. Just a simple silver band etched with gaelic twists. Exactly what she had told him she wanted.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

Then he laid down again, they entwined their bodies and simply laid in the silence. Hermoine knew the exact moment he fell asleep. She held him tighter when he did. He was much too good to her and she loved him so much at times that it frightened her. Like tonight. As she'd dressed for bed in the silk floor length night gown he loved to remove from her and pretended that she didn't know he was lighting candles in the room she questioned what she would do if ever he was to be taken from her. Could she live without him? Would she want to? She had been so frightened that for a moment she'd had to sit on the floor of the loo and wait for her breathing to normalize. Then, she had come to a decision and she wondered now if it had been the right one.

She wondered, as she lay awake in the silence, wrapped in his arms, holding him in hers, if she had conceived. She had not performed any of the normal contraceptive charms nor had she been on any sort of muggle birth control for months now. Sitting alone in the bathroom she had decided that if ever she was to lose him she would want a least some small part of him with her always. His child would be a part of both of them, a reminder of their love. It was selfish, she knew, but she realized in the darkness that she wanted his child more than anything she had ever wanted in her life. She wanted them to bring a child into the world and raise it together. But, what kind of life could they give a baby in the world they were in? Was it selfish of her to want a child right now? Could a child survive in this war-stricken life?

A deep calm filled her as she lay with him, feeling his heart beat nearly in time with her own. Yes, they would bring their child into the world. The child she knew for certain she had conceived this night. They would raise him strong and tall and he would be a good man. He would grow in a world where he didn't know the pain she had known, where he didn't fear for his life. Because they would win. And soon. She didn't know how, but she knew it. Harry would kill Voldemort and everything would be bright again, people would smile again, and her sad-eyed best friend would be with his love. She knew all of these things in her heart and as she fell asleep, sent all of her love to Harry, where ever he might be.

Charlie Weasley couldn't sleep. He never slept much when Draco was not with him, he was always to worried about the young man he had come to love. It killed him a little more every time he had to let Draco go back into the forces that, if they knew what he was doing, who he loved, would kill him without a second thought. He turned onto his side and touched the pillow where, just a few days before, Draco's head had rested. Just two more days and, whether Draco had learned of Voldemort's location and who had cast the spell on Ron or not, they would be married and Draco would never go back to the Death Eaters again. Charlie would not allow it. He had never understood the muggle hang-up with single-sex relationships. Love was love no matter who it was fell in love. And he did love Draco, more than he thought possible. He had been a little wary of the love at first, calling himself dirty old man when he looked at Draco with lust in his heart. Draco had reminded him their first night together, and many nights since, that he was far from being an old man.

Draco had never really known, but Charlie was as amazed by their love as he was. He was amazed that the beautiful blonde haired young man with the shy silver eyes could ever see anything but a rough-handed, plain man in him. But, when Draco called him dashing, charming, handsome, he believed him. And he did his best to convince Draco that he was brave, gorgeous, everything a man could want in a partner and husband. Charlie closed his eyes, willing to try for sleep one more time, but kept his hand on Draco's pillow. Everything would be all right. Harry would win this war. Nothing would happen to Draco. In two days they would be married. Charlie had faith. As he felt himself drifting into sleep he hoped that Harry could feel the faith he had in him.

"Arthur, where do you think Harry is? It's getting awfully late, isn't it?" Molly looked at her clock as she sat, mending socks, at the kitchen table. It was a muggle habit she had picked up from Hermoine that had helped her all through this horrible war to calm her nerves. After the war had started, Harry, Hermoine, Viktor, Draco, Neville, Fleur, Katie, and Nahane had been added to the clock, but it wasn't much good, when most of the hands rested on mortal danger. It gave her some small comfort every time she looked at it that the hands of her two lost babies, Percy and Ginny, rested on 'home.' She had questioned every member of the household as to who had done it shortly after Percy's funeral, but no one knew anything about it. She had been at home when Ginny had been killed and had watched the hand move on it's own. It was her only comfort when it came to the deaths of her children, to know that they were both safe and at peace.

"Molly," Arthur walked over to her from the window he had been staring out of and leaned down to place a chaste kiss to the back of her neck, "I'm sure he's fine, dear."

"I just like it when they're all home so that I know that they're fine," she blinked rapidly, trying to banish the tears that had formed in her eyes without her consent. They came much too often lately, Arthur thought.

"I know you do, love, but someone would contact us if there were anything wrong."

"Do you think so?"

"I know so. Come sit in front of the fire with me for a bit?"

She nodded and allowed him to lead her to the old sofa they had bought when they were first married. It was old and threadbare, but neither of them had ever been able to get rid of it. There were too many memories that came with that sofa. Bill, Percy, and the twins had been conceived on it, though they never told them that. It was the sofa all of their children had laid on when they were sick so that they could get to them sooner if they needed to. Too many memories. They loved the sofa too much to get rid of it, ever.

Arthur looked into the fire as Molly rested her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He covered her hand with his. For a moment he simply took stock of all that had happened in this horrible war. His oldest was scarred almost beyond recognition, but he still had the woman he loved desperately with him. His second was about to be married to a Malfoy, but one he approved of immensely after getting to know the boy and Charlie was happier than he's ever seen him. Percy. His heart tightened a little in his chest. His third had died beside the woman he loved, neither of them had felt any pain, it had all been so quick. That was something. The twins were both in love. Fred would limp for the rest of his life, and George would always have to wear an eye-patch over the eye that had been destroyed by a spell, but they were both still alive and in as good of humor as could be expected. Ron. His Ron was laying in a hospital bed waiting for someone to wake him. Harry would do it, Arthur had faith. Harry loved Ron and he would do anything for him. His daughter, Hermoine, he had considered her his daughter since her parents had been murdered, was in love and very much safe. That was something, even as his other daughter had died right before his eyes. He still had nightmares and woke up in cold sweat as the day replayed again and again in his mind. But, the smile on her peaceful face when she had whispered that it was okay for him to let her go had been the best comfort he could ever receive. Unfortunately, her lover, Neville, had not seen the smile and every day they all watched helplessly as he sunk deeper and deeper into depression. A stronger man than himself would have broken under the pain he had endured. But, stronger men than himself did not have what he had.

Stronger men than himself did not have his Molly. He had loved her since the first time they had met, the first day of first year at Hogwort's. It had taken him six years to tell her that he loved her. But, he knew she was meant for him when, at his nervous admission, she'd thrown herself into his arms and asked him what took him so long. All through their many years of marriage, the births of their children, and two wars their lives had changed again and again. But, the love he had felt for her on the day they agreed to love and cherish had never faded or changed. She was his sweetheart, his everything.

"I love you, Molly Weasley," he whispered, "Thank you so much for saying yes."

"I love you, Arthur," she responded, snuggling closer, "Thank you for asking me."

"When this war is over do you know what I want to do?"

"What?" she asked.

"I want to retire and get a house by the beach. And I want us to sit on a porch every night and look at the waves. And I want our kids to come visit as often as possible and play pony with our grandchildren. What do you think?"

"I think it sounds wonderful," she smiled, "As soon as the war is over, Arthur. It will be strange when we're the only ones in the house again."

"I could chase you around the sofa, make you giggle like a girl again."

"As long as we don't have to move too fast. We're not as agile as we once were."

"No," he agreed, "We don't have to move too fast. We'll move as fast or slow as we want."

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Harry can beat him?"

"We helped raise him, didn't we?"

Molly smiled at that, "Yes. He's every bit our son in everything but name."

" 'Course he can then. You just have to keep the hope alive in your heart, Molly. We all do."

"Oh, I do. We both do." And as they sat in front of the fire, gazing into it, they both hoped that Harry knew just how much hope they had for him and the future.

"God save me from stubborn American women!" George Weasley growled as he watched the woman he loved sitting in the edge of the bed they shared, staring at him passively. It took all of his control not to jump her right then and there as she sat on the bed, knees pulled up so that she could rest her chin on them, naked as the day she was born. He inky black hair, with the eagle feather tied into it, fell down in long, straight sections, covering most of her back and shoulders. Her dusky skin almost glowed.

Nahane Clearwater had come to them with the American Magical Task Force, the best and brightest sent by the American Magical High Council. Out of the dozen, she was the only one who hadn't been killed in the war. George often cursed the High Council. They had meant well, but there had never been a magical war on American soil and they had sent all eager to prove themselves, and very untried, young witches and wizards who had no idea what real battle was, most of them headstrong and unable to follow orders. Most of them had died quickly. But, Nahane had been different. She was quiet and strong, took orders well, never tried to make herself the hero. It had taken George all of three days to realize that he would love her and no other. It had taken her five. On the sixth day, after her second battle, they had fallen into bed together, making love with a desperation and animalistic quality that had surprised them both. Soon, you could not see one without the other being far behind. In battle, they fought side by side. They ate side by side. They sat together in meetings, one usually seated at the other's feet when they held the meetings in the den, which they most often did.

They were complete opposites in almost every manner. Where George spoke without thinking, Nahane rarely spoke to anyone but him without first considering for minutes, hours, sometimes days, what she wanted to say. He acted on impulse. She planned everything. He was quick to anger. She had the most calm nature any of them had ever seen. They complimented each other perfectly in most aspects. The only thing that they really seemed to have in common was that they were both as stubborn as mules. Neither budged once they had made up their minds.

"Please, Nahane," George got to his knees next to the bed and touched her arm, "I'm on my knees. Do you see? I'm begging you. Go back to America. Stay safe."

"I already told you, George Weasley," Nahane put her legs down so that she could lean forward and cup his face more easily, "I am not leaving you. I go where you go. I made that promise to you six months ago."

"I never asked you to make that promise," he murmured, looking into her dark eyes.

"I know," she smiled, a gentle tugging of her mouth at the corners that no one else would have noticed but him, "And that's why it's so important that I keep it. I love you, George. I'm not going anywhere. You can ask, demand, shout as many times as you want. If you slip me a sleeping potion and bundle me off I'll just be back here as soon as it wears off. Please, George, don't ask me again."

"God save me from stubborn American women," he groaned again, without heat.

"George?"

"Yes, love?"

"Shut up and make love to me."

"As you wish, my Warrior Woman."

"My Knight."

"We're pathetic, aren't we?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. As long as we're pathetic together."

"Always."

"They really are pathetic," Katie sighed as she tried to find a comfortable position where her large girth would not get in her way. The walls were paper thin and as she lay in bed with Fred's arms around her large midsection she couldn't help but listen to the conversation between George and his "Warrior Woman."

"They're new in love," Fred whispered, kissing her neck gently.

"Were we that bad?" she questioned quietly, not wanting George and Nahane to hear them as they had heard the other couple.

"Worse," Fred kissed her again, "Angel Cake."

"Snuggle Bear."

"Starfish."

"Bubbles."

"Honey Pie."

"Bug-A-Boo."

"Don't remind me of that one," Fred groaned, "Where did you get that one, anyway?"

"I'm not sure. It just kind of came to me one night. Fred?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I was think of baby names today when I couldn't nap."

"What were you thinking, love?"

"Percival Lee for a boy, Angelina Virginia for a girl."

Fred tightened his hold on her for a moment and fought the emotion that was rising in his throat, then decided to allow it to show through in his voice as he felt the tears gather in his eyes, "Those sound . . . those sound perfect, Katie."

"I'm glad you like them."

"I love them. I love you."

"I love you more."

"Impossible. I love you more."

"Could never happen. I love you more."

"No . . . I think I . . ."

"Let's just say you both love each other a great deal and end it there!" They all laughed as George shouted at them through the wall, "Here I am trying to make love with this gorgeously naked woman in my arms and you're both getting sugary sweet over there! That's enough! You're making me lose my concentration!"

"Didn't take much!" Fred called back.

"Lover, if you're going to go beat him, please put on some pants first. You might scare Katie into early labor."

"Why? She's seen it all before."

Katie snorted her laughter and Fred buried his face in her hair and Nahane's voice drifted through the wall and they could just see her lifting one perfectly shaped eyebrow, "Oh, really?"

"Well, Fred and I we're twins and all so . . . yeah."

"Nice try, but still not off the hook."

And then a voice none of them had expected, "Kick him out, Nahane. I'll come sleep with you. Katie's never seen my bits before." Neville's voice and teasing manner had them all frozen for a moment before they all burst out laughing, then called their goodnights as they all settled in.

Neville Longbottom smiled as he looked up at the ceiling of the room he had taken after Ginny's death. He hadn't laughed in a very long time and it felt good. It felt so good. He had thought for a very long time that if he enjoyed his life at all, even in the middle of this war, that he was somehow betraying the memory of the woman he loved because she could no longer enjoy life, but laughing just now had made him feel closer to her than he had in a very long time.

For you, Gin, he promised toward the heavens, For you I'm going to be strong. Maybe love again some day. You'd be the first to slap me and tell me I should if you were still here. I promise you, Gin, right after the war's over, I'm going to move on. Until it ends, though I'll just be strong and miss you. I love you, Gin.

He fell asleep thinking of Ginny and Harry and how much all of them wanted to be strong for him so that he could win the war and save not only them and the world, but himself. He knew, as he fell asleep, that mentally, they were all sending him their strength.

Harry could feel them. All of them. All of their hope, faith, strength, and love. He felt it all flood his heart and his mind as he stood, squaring off with Voldemort in the street just outside of Saint Mungo's. He had to draw him away. Away from this place where innocent people might be hurt. Where Ron could be hurt. A graveyard. There was a graveyard not far from Saint Mungo's for those who died when no one knew their names, if they had families. It seemed appropriate. This had all really started in a graveyard, after all. He knew that if he ran, Voldemort would follow him. This was to be their final showdown. One of them would not walk away from it.

But, he didn't have to run. Voldemort nodded and they walked side by side until they reached the graveyard. He did not care for how many might die because of their private battle, but he was also not stupid. In all of his dealings with Harry Potter he had learned that Harry was often triumphant when he felt strongly about people. Was the Weasley boy to actually die because of their battle, Harry's grief would give him strength. Not that Voldemort doubted his own prowess, but he was vying for control of the world. Now was not the time to make rash decisions and take chances based upon ego.

"Well, old man," Harry nodded, his heart and mind full of his friends and their love. It was time, "Shall we begin?"


	7. Chapter 7

All previous disclaimers apply.

"You invite me to attack you," Voldemort's voice was low, questioning as he looked at his greatest enemy, so eager for this battle that had been building between them since that fateful night so many years before, "Are you so eager to die, Harry Potter? Some might question your sanity."

"They can question all they want," Harry could not keep the anger out of his voice no matter how he tried, "Perhaps I am insane. Then again, perhaps so are you. We'll see when it ends who is dead and who lives."

"Oh, Harry," Voldemort shook his head and clucked his tongue as if he was speaking to a slightly slow twelve-year-old boy, "Didn't anyone tell you? You can't kill evil."

"Resorting to cliché?" Harry spat back, "Somehow I thought you were much more clever than that. Do you plan to talk me to death, Voldemort?"

"Lord Voldemort!" The Dark Lord drew himself up to his full height and his capes billowed out behind him as the physical power of his magical energy caused the air around him to stir, "I was merely giving you time to say goodbye to your pathetic existence, Potter. My patience with you has now reached it's end, boy."

"Bow, Voldemort," Harry fixed his blazing eyes on Voldemort's frame. For a moment Voldemort felt pressure on his back, forcing him lower and lower into a slight inclination, as he had once forced Harry to do, "We must respect the pleasantries."

"How dare you, boy! Crucio!"

Harry couldn't help it. He screamed as he fell to his knees, the white hot pain searing through his body. He felt the seizures that came with the curse begin as he fell onto his back. He waited for it to end, prayed for it to end. Voldemort was much too arrogant. There would be no way that he would kill him without first speaking again, Harry knew as much. And he had to get him closer. He needed him to be closer. He felt his body go limp and took in deep, gasping breaths as the curse was released. Voldemort was waiting for him as he rose first to his knees, then back to his feet.

"You've grown much stronger since the last time we fought, boy, I will give you that. Crucio!"

Harry fell to his knees but did not fall onto his back this time as the tremors took him. He couldn't breathe around the pain, couldn't see. Just when he thought that maybe his own plan had been a stupid idea and he was truly frightened that he would die in this graveyard and never see Ron open his eyes again, Voldemort ended the curse again.

"Did you honestly ever believe that you could beat me, boy? Me? The most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth? I should think you would have learned by now. No matter what you do, I always return. Getting up again? My, my, but you are a stubborn one, Harry Potter. Why are you not fighting back, boy? Fight me! Don't just let me kill you. Where is the fun in that?"

"Fun?" Harry gasped as he struggled to keep his vision straight, his wand held at the ready, "Is that what you call what you do? Fun?"

"Oh yes. Crucio!"

He was toying with him, Harry knew, as he fell to the ground once more, the pain shooting up and down his body an unbearable agony. Voldemort came to stand just over him and the pain let up just a little. So that he could hear everything Voldemort was going to say. Pretentious bastard.

"Harry, why must we fight? You are no small magical power yourself. Imagine what we could do together. We could rule the world. With you by my side, pretty one, there would be nothing that we could not do. I must say, even as the idea of your death makes my blood sing, there has always been a certain something in my mind that calls for you. A prophesy is just a prophesy, Harry. Prophets don't know everything. We could change history." Harry spat on the hand that stroked his cheek and screamed when the pain of the spell intensified again. Then, Voldemort dismissed the spell again and walked a little further away. No! Harry got to hid hands and knees, gasping. He watched as Voldemort raised his wand again, prepared to say the spell that would end everything.

"I must say, this is a terrible disappointment."

"You," Harry forced around his pain, knowing that in his arrogance Voldemort would have to listen, "You have taken everything from me! A good life with people who loved me! The man who became like my father! Dumbledore! You even took my first lover! Without a second thought you had that snake Wormtail kill him like he was nothing! Like he didn't have thoughts and dreams and plans! He was only seventeen! And you've tried to take my Ron. You think I'm going to let you win when I know that if I kill you he'll open his eyes again? Oh no, Voldemort. I am not as weak as you think! When I was fighting for a whole world, everything seemed hopeless. But now . . . now I fight for one thing. To see him open his eyes! To tell him I love him! I will kill you, but not before you tell me how to break the spell you've put on him!"

"You think you have just been toying with me, don't you, boy?" Voldemort looked at him with question in his eyes.

"I know I have," Harry responded, a smile crossing his face, "Expelliarmus!"

Voldemort moved quickly out of the way of the spell, "Do you really think that you can defeat me with such childish spells, Potter? Crucio!"

"Expecto Patronum!" The large stag that Harry had gotten well used to seeing during the war bounded out of his wand and stood as a protective shield between himself and Voldemort's torturing spell. For a long time Harry had thought that the Patronus could only be used when he was fighting dementors, but Lupin had explained not long into the war that it was a purely defensive spell and, depending on the strength of the attacking spell, could repel and reflect most of them. Harry watched as Voldemort was struck with his own Crucio and writhed for a moment before falling to one knee. Unfortunately, his spell had been strong enough that Harry's Patronus evaporated into thin air.

"You hurt me, boy," Voldemort growled as he stood up, "You will not live to do it again. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry dodged the curse and gasped as the headstone that had been directly behind him exploded in a glory of flame. He hid behind a large statue, trying to catch his breath, preparing himself mentally for what had to be done.

"Come out of hiding, boy! Don't be a coward, face your death like a man. It's painless, Harry. Just a flash of green light and it's over. And don't worry. You won't be alone for long. Right after I'm done here, I'll go finish off the little red haired whoring blood traitor lying in that bed. You'll be with him, and your parents, and soon enough your friends will all join you one by one."

"You will not touch any of them!" Harry screamed, losing his temper. He jumped up from his hiding place and pointed his wand at Voldemort's face, "Crucio!"

Voldemort stiffened for a moment, but soon relaxed, "Is that all you have, Potter? Such a weak little spell. Don't you have any hate in that brave, noble heart of yours? After all, I took your parents, Black, Dumbledore, that ridiculous Diggory, so many of your friends, oh, and one more thing. The man you love. That spell, Potter, a new one I was working out. I never imagined that it would work so well. There is no way to reverse it."

"You're . . . you're lying!"

"Am I? You still haven't answered my question, Potter. No hate at all? Nothing to back an Unforgivable Curse?"

"No," Harry whispered. It was a realization even to him, "I don't hate you, Voldemort. Despite all you've done to me, to people I love, I can't hate you. We're not so different, you and I, are we? Two lost boys, natural leaders, waiting for friendship, for love. Sometimes I see him, you know, looking out through your eyes."

"Who?" Voldemort's voice was dangerously low. Harry recognized the fact, but he couldn't stop himself now that he'd started.

"Tom. He's still in there somewhere, just wanting love. Who rejected you, Voldemort? Not just Daddy, oh, no, someone else. I suppose it doesn't matter. A mixed blood, wasn't he? Yeah. No, Voldemort. I can't hate you. I pity you."

"Pity me?" Voldemort asked, "Damn your pity, Potter!"

Harry felt his body being lifted by invisible hands from the neck and gagged as he tried to pull air into his lungs. He stayed, suspended in midair until Voldemort walked over, threw down his wand, and put his own hands around Harry's neck, suspending the young man just two inches off the ground. Harry saw dark spots in front of his eyes and dropped his wand.

"I'm going to watch the light leave your eyes, Potter. Then, when you're dead, I'm going to go down to that hospital and ravage that little blood traitor Malfoy until he's begging for death. Then, on to your sweet little Weasley. His body will be tight, if unresponsive. Maybe I'll see if I can find a spell to reverse the one I cast on him, keep him around for a while. Or maybe the mudblood bitch you call your friend. Maybe both of them. I told you before, Potter, you could never hope to beat me. I am the strongest wizard that ever lived."

"Maybe . . ." Harry gasped, each word a battle, "But, you're not . . . the strong . . . strongest man who . . . ever lived!"

Voldemort's eyes went wide, then dull, as Harry pulled the long dagger he had begun to carry months ago tucked at an agle in the back of his jeans from it\'s leather sheath and thrust it straight into Voldemort's chest. Voldemort held him for a minute more, then dropped him suddenly, staggering backward, his mouth opening and closing with no actual words coming out in shock. Harry rolled over, coughing, and saw Voldemort's wand. Just as the Dark Lord fell to his knees Harry got to his, grabbed the wand, and snapped it in half. Voldemort looked as if he wanted to cast a nonverbal curse. But, it had been years since Voldemort had been remotely hurt in any way and now he was dying. Harry knew there would be no way he would be able to concentrate enough to form one. Harry crawled over to where Voldemort lay, his head resting on shattered tombstone, his arms and legs moving on their own as his nerves fired randomly.

"Can you hear me, old man? Listen to my voice as you die. I figured it out months ago. I could never hate you, so I could never kill you with a curse. So, what to do? You expected magic, didn't you? Well, here's the thing about muggles . . . they create the most simple, yet effective, things to make up for their lack of magic. One of the first being the knife. Good thing I was raised muggle, isn't it? Know as you die, old man, that a muggle object killed you. No spells, no potions. A knife. A muggle creation. With you gone, we'll hunt down all your army. But, this time you aren't coming back, old man. Because it wasn't magic took your life. Know also as you die, that I don't hate you, Voldemort. I don't hate you, Tom. But, I hope to heaven that you burn in hell."

With his last words, Harry drove the knife home, straight through Voldemort's chest. Harry watched the light go out of his eyes, the blood run from his mouth down his chin. For good measure, Harry pulled the dagger out, plunged it back in, right into Voldemort's heart. Then, remembering what he had said about Ron, Harry pulled the dagger out again. With a cry of pure pain he brought it down across the dead wizard's throat, pushing as hard as he could until the head was severed from the body completely. Then, he dropped the knife and began to sob.

Over. It was finally all over. So many years, and so many losses, and Voldemort was finally dead. The task was not complete until the army was hunted down and he knew that the wizarding and muggle communities would call for them all to be killed instead of imprisoned this time and he wasn't sure if he was going to oppose it or support it yet, but . . . Voldemort was dead. He had fulfilled his destiny. And he would never see Ron open his eyes again. Was it worth it? Could it be worth it, to survive when the one that he loved would lie in an eternal sleep? Harry fell onto his side on the hard ground, not caring how much it hurt his weakened body even as he felt a couple of ribs crack. He curled around himself.

Just let me die, he prayed, just let me die. Every breath was a struggle as he sobbed around pain both physical and emotional, but he didn't care. I want to die.

Don't even think it, a voice whispered in his mind, I love you, Harry Potter.

Not caring if the voice was real or imagined Harry whispered, "I love you, Ron Weasley." Then, he closed his eyes, and knew no more.


	8. Chapter 8

All previous disclaimers apply.

The light as Harry opened his eyes was bright, but not blinding. It was warm, comforting, enveloping him like an embrace. Was this what it felt like to be dead, he wondered idly as he began to walk, unsure of where he was going, not really caring that he didn't know. This place. This place felt like home, even though he was certain that he'd never been there. It was a beautiful old house, white with green shutters, that stood stately and welcoming as he approached it from behind. He could taste salt on his lips and knew that they were close to the sea. This house, he smiled, this was the house he had imagined sharing with Ron in his dreams. This was more than a house, more than a place. It felt like home because it was home. Was he dead? To be so comfortable, to be so warm and safe? If so, he wondered why anyone feared it. Was this heaven?

"Hardly," a smooth voice he had been wanting to hear for nine months interrupted his thoughts as he rounded the corner. His breath hitched when he saw Ron standing on the porch in nothing but a pair of jeans, waiting for him, "You're not dead, Harry. You know I wouldn't allow that." Ron smiled and Harry felt his heart stop momentarily, "What? Are you just going to stand there and look at me?"

With a half sob, Harry ran up the stairs and into Ron's open arms. The taller man held him close as Harry buried his face in his neck and simply cried. After a moment Ron held him out at arm's length and wiped the tears away.

"What's all this here? Harry Potter crying. What would they say to see The Boy Who Saved Us All blubbering like a child?"

"I don't care," Harry smiled, cupping Ron's face in his hands, "You're here. You're right here in front of me."

"Yes, I am. But, this is only a dream, Harry. You're going to have to wake up soon."

"No!" Harry wrapped his arms around Ron's waist again, "I won't! I don't want to. I just want to stay here with you! I love you, Ron. I won't let you go now that I have you."

Harry felt Ron release a shaky breath, "If only you knew how long I've wanted to hear you say that. Yes, Harry, you do have me. You'll always have me. But, you do have to wake up!"

"No!"

"Yes, Harry. They still need you."

"I've done my part!" Harry cried, pushing away from Ron's embrace, "I killed him, just like I was supposed to! I've given everything up for them. There's blood on my hands for them. I gave up you for all of them! Haven't I done enough?"

"Harry," Harry stiffened a little when Ron put his arms around Harry from behind, pulled his close and placed a gentle kiss to his neck, "My poor, tired Harry. Of course you've done enough. But, if you don't wake up we'll never really be together."

"You mean?" Harry turned around in Ron's arms. The handsome ginger haired man just smiled at him softly, sweetly, "I love you, Ron."

"And I love you," Ron answered, pulling him close again, "Now wake up, Harry. Wake up. Harry . . . Harry . . ."

"Harry? Harry?" Harry blinked rapidly as his eyes snapped open to a blurred picture of people he was sure that he should recognize. He sat up quickly in the bed, a little panicked, and grabbed when his glasses were held out in front of him.

"Harry, son, it's okay. It's over." Arthur Weasley's voice was comforting as a warm hand was set to his shoulder. Harry panted heavily, looking at the people who surrounded him. All his friends, his family. Everything came back in a rush. Draco laying against the wall, the battle in the graveyard, taking Voldemort's life, and a dream . . . a dream he couldn't quite remember. The relieved tears filled his eyes and he grabbed on to Molly Weasley when she sat on the bed and wrapped him in her arms. For nearly a quarter hour he simply cried out all of his fear, his anger, his relief, and all of the grief he wasn't sure really had a reason behind it. Molly simply held him and rocked, making little soothing noises and hums as she did so until he was calmed enough to look at the people up and around at the people in the room, all of them smiling gently. No rejoicing. There could never be rejoicing among the people who had actually fought the war. They had lost too many, too easily. But, there was an easy grace to their smiles that reached the eyes that let Harry know they were happier than they'd been in a long time.

Arthur had placed a hand on Molly's shoulder and looked down on him with all the pride a father could have for his son. Hermoine and Viktor stood at the edge of the bed, their arms around each other's waists. Hermoine nodded at him, tears in her eyes. George and Nahane sat at his left elbow, their fingers entwined. Fred and Katie were on his right. Fred had his arms around his wife from behind and was resting his chin on her shoulder as they both smiled at him. Neville stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his eyes peaceful. Minerva sat on the edge of his bed, not bothering to hide her tears. Bill, Fleur, Hagrid, Lupin, Dean, Oliver, Lavender, so many others he had worried about because they had not been under the same roof most of the time, they were all there. But where was . . .

"Draco?" Harry questioned, afraid of the answer.

"He's fine, love," Molly smiled, "He's in a room of his own. Still a little weak, but fine. Charlie said to tell you he was proud of you, but that . . ."

"That he can't leave Draco's side," Harry finished, "And he shouldn't. What happened?"

"When you killed Voldemort somehow the Death Eaters knew. They began attacking people where ever they were hiding, all over the country. And they weren't subtle about it. We all had our hands full for two days trying to hunt them all down. Those we didn't have to kill ourselves were dead by the time we got to them anyway."

"What?"

"Suicide," Minerva said quietly, setting a hand to Harry's knee, "Some said they would not be going to Azkaban before they turned their wands on themselves. Every known Death Eater has been accounted for. Most are dead. Some have really come out of the Imperius Curse. Olivander being one of them."

"Can it be that easy?" Harry whispered.

"Easy?" Hagrid questioned, "You call three years open war easy?"

"Hush, Hagrid," Hermoine scolded, then turned back to Harry, "You're right. And it probably won't be that easy. But, he's gone, Harry. You killed him."

"What happened after . . ."

"Draco." Molly told him, "Draco used the mirror spell as soon as they had put him into his own room and contacted us. Telling us what a mediwitch told him. That you had gone to fight Voldemort. He tried to come find you himself, but the medical staff would not let him. He gave them quite a bit of trouble, from what I understand."

"We got here after everything had finished," Hermoine picked up the story, "And we had no idea where you were. We thought . . . you could have gone anywhere. An old muggle woman told us she had seen two walk toward the little graveyard. A man in a Halloween costume and a boy with death in his eyes. When we . . . when we got to the graveyard we saw his body and the head and . . . you were lying so still next to him. We were so afraid. I got to you first and at first I thought you weren't breathing, but then I saw that you were and I was relieved, to say the least."

"When we got to you, she was holding you in her arms and kissing you all over your face, telling you she loved you," George laughed, "Viktor was very jealous. Especially since he had just purposed to her."

"I was," Viktor went along with the joke and nodded, "But it seemed foolish to want to beat you when you were not even awake."

Harry laughed along with everyone else.

"You've been here for a week," Katie told him, "Sleeping. We always told you that you needed to rest more. Too bad it takes something like this to make you do so."

"And Ron?" Harry finally asked the question that had been in his mind since he woke.

"Harry . . ."

"What aren't you telling me?" Harry demanded, turning to each of them. Every time he met someone's eyes they looked away, "God damn it, tell me! Fine! I'll see for myself."

"Harry!" Molly cried when he tore himself out of her arms and jumped out of the bed. None of them stopped him as he ran toward Ron's room. They just followed him slowly. He paused, breathing hard when he reached the door. Ron lay in the bed, as he had been for months. Nothing had changed. Harry stumbled across the room to the bed, tears blinding him. He fell to his knees next to bed and sobbed. So, Voldemort had told him the truth. There was no way to undo the spell. He stood for a moment, leaned over, dismissed the bubble charm with a thought, and pressed his lips to Ron's gently, feeling his tears falling harder as the sweet, slightly chapped lips remained still under his. He took Ron's hand, placed another kiss to his forehead, one last kiss to his unmoving lips.

"I love you, Ronald Weasley, now and forever."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermoine moved into the room as he walked away from the bed. He allowed her to take him in her arms and begin leading him from the room.

"If you love me," a quiet voice they barely heard made them freeze, "Where the bloody hell do you think you're going?"

Harry turned around and his mouth fell open when he couldn't force any words. Ron's eyes were open. His hand reached for Harry. There was a small smile on his perfect face. Harry let out a sob and ran back to the bed, taking the man he loved in his arms.

"Gently," Ron groaned, "Gently, Harry."

Hermoine covered her mouth in shock and sank to her knees, happy tears rolling down her cheeks as she observed the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Harry and Ron, both sitting, ran their hands over each other's faces, as if seeing each other for the first time. The sun behind them put a halo of light around them, making them both seem almost angelic as they placed small kisses each other's bodies. Ron to Harry's forehead, Harry to Ron's neck, Ron to Harry's palm, Harry to Ron's nose. Then, their fingers found their way into each other's hair and time seemed to move in slow motion as they paused, their lips just a hair away from each other.

"I love you, Harry," Ron whispered, "I've loved you always."

"I love you, Ron," Harry whispered in return, "I'll love you forever."

Then, their lips finally met in their first real kiss. It was slow and deep, filled with all the things they had never said to each other, but felt for so long. Hermoine felt like quite the voyeur as she sat on the floor watching them finally express their love. Hoping not to disturb the glow, she got up slowly and turned around.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ron's voice was louder now. She turned around, Ron and Harry were both reaching for her, "Get over here!" She launched herself at them with a sob. When she was on the bed, she kissed them both briefly. So many years. So much. The three sat on the bed, their arms around each other's shoulders, foreheads touching. From that Halloween so long ago to that moment it had always been them. The three of them there for each other always. And now they were able to hold each other again after nine months. There were tears on all of their faces, but they didn't care.

"Now, what am I supposed to think when I find my fiancee on a bed with two men?" Viktor's voice made them all look up.

"That you should join us?" Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows. Viktor raised an eyebrow, sighed, and nodded.

"If you insist."

"Oh, I insist!" Hermoine laughed. Viktor laughed, crossed the room in three quick strides, sat on the bed, gave Ron and Harry fierce hugs, then took Hermoine's face in his hands and kissed her deeply. Harry and Ron smiled at them, then leaned into each other for another kiss. The four of them were uninterrupted for just a moment before George's voice interrupted them.

"A foursome, huh? Kinky. Nahane, want to . . ."

"No," her serious facial expression with her playful words made them all laugh, "I'm a very jealous creature. You belong to me. But, come find a closet with me and I'll let you tear off all my clothes."

"Are you serious?"

"When have you ever known me to make a joke when it came to sex? Are you coming or not?"

"Coming," George answered, then looked into the room, "I love that woman! Make excuses to Mum for us?"

"Not a chance," Ron answered back. George crossed the room and hugged Ron close.

"I have missed you, little brother."

"I love you, too, George. Go find the closet Nahane's hiding in or you'll be on the couch."

As soon as George had disappeared everyone else seemed to flood into the room. There were more hugs and tears and Molly had to be forced to let Ron go. They made so much noise that Draco had demanded to be let out of his room and he and Charlie had joined them all. Then, there had been more hugs and tears and Molly had to be forced to let Draco go.

"Hey, Ron," Harry murmured, as they sat on the bed, Harry behind Ron supporting him as they watched everyone they knew and loved talking and smiling as they had not since the war had started.

"Yeah?"

"Want to get married?"

"Yeah," Ron answered, turning his face to Harry for another kiss. Harry smiled and obliged him. It couldn't have been more perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

All previous disclaimers apply.

Warning: LEMON. (With a little bit of fluff thrown in.) Don't like, please don't read.

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Ron Weasley sighed as he collapsed in the deep, comfortable chair that had been the first purchase he and his lover, Harry Potter, had made for their first very own flat in London nearly a year prior. He felt almost bone weary and more tense than he had in a very long time, but it was in a good way. It was in that way where the day has been busy and all you've been doing is rushing around and stressing out about so many things that have to be done to make it perfect, but it's all worth it to see that one glorious moment where everything has worked out just as it's supposed to. And the day, while the most stressful in a long while, had been full of those just perfect moments, more than he had been expecting, actually. So, he smiled as he leaned over to remove the fancy shoes that hurt his feet so badly and felt nothing but contentment as he sat back up and leaned into the comfortable, worn padding of the old, ugly chair.

"The best," Harry responded quietly, approaching the chair from behind and reaching over the low back to massage the tension out of his lover's shoulders. Ron closed his eyes and groaned in pleasure as his lover's hands worked their magic and all the stress of the day began to work itself out of his body.

"Hermoine looked beautiful," he moaned, dropping his head forward as Harry's hands moved their way up his neck to the back of his head.

"She looked gorgeous," Harry agreed, leaving off of his massage and coming to the side of the chair so that he could lean over slightly and capture Ron's lips with his own. No matter how long they were together, no matter how many mornings he woke with Ron in his arms, he could never quite get over the fact that Ron was actually awake, that Ron was with him, that Ron loved him. He moved a bit more so that he was sitting on the chair's large arm and cupped Ron's face in his hands so that he could kiss him more thoroughly. He smiled against his lover's lips when he felt Ron's arms encircle his waist and pull him even closer so that he was almost in his lap. Slowly, no stress, no pushing, Harry traced the outline of Ron's lips with his tongue and chuckled low and deep in his throat when Ron's lips opened easily, smoothly, with no more coaxing needed. Ever so slowly, their tongues melded, traced each other, held each other, gently, coaxingly, promising more to come. Much more.

Ron moaned from deep in his throat and pulled Harry just a little bit more so that his smaller, darker lover was actually sitting in his lap. He couldn't believe how remarkably his life had changed since he'd woken to call Harry, the love of his life, back to his side. After two months recovery in Saint Mungo's, gathering his strength and relearning how to use muscles that had long been in disuse, he'd finally been given over to the care of his family and his lover. They'd stayed at The Burrow for a while, just until Charlie and Draco had finally gotten married, their original plans ruined by the Final Battle, as it had come to be called. For a while it had been difficult on everyone who was part of the order, who had participated in the war. They were now global heroes, they were dogged everywhere they went. It was the worst for Ron, who hadn't participated in the last part of the war. He was labeled as the one Harry Potter had won the war for. It was Harry Potter's love for the sleeping man that had won the war. It made Ron glad to know that Harry loved him so, but it was also hard to be labeled as the one who had to be rescued. The one the war was won for, not by.

Soon enough, though, as was bound to happen, their accomplishments were overshadowed by the rebuilding process and gossip as the world got back to normal, or as normal as it had ever been. They still saw a few photographers hiding in the bushes every once in a great while, but nothing compared to what it had been. So, they were able to concentrate once more on their own lives, their relationship, their love. It had taken them a while to readjust to each other, to get to know each other as the people they were after a war. But, as was bound to happen with people who loved each other as much as they did, they learned to deal with the differences in their personalities, the problems that arose from them. They had to learn to love each other again not as the boys they had once been, but as the men they had become. Not, that it hadn't been hard and that there hadn't been fights. They fought pretty noisily and violently sometimes, but it usually ended with sex just as noisy and violent. Then, in the aftermath, they spoke quietly in each other's arms and resolved whatever had made them fight in the first place.

The world itself had definitely become a more interesting place since the war had ended. At the very end of the war, all muggles knew that the wizarding world existed. For a time the World Magical Council had decided that there were just too many muggles to try to perform memory charms on all of them. So, they had decided together that they were going to attempt something that hadn't been attempted in a thousand years. They were going to try to get along with muggles knowing they were there. Harry, Ron, Hermoine, Viktor, and Draco had been asked to join the Council just after the war and they had been the biggest advocates for allowing the two worlds to become one. However, the Council had also feared what might happen if muggles began to depend too much on their magical counterparts and resentment began to form, creating a social division that they had always feared. So, their backup plan was that no matter how many people it took, if a social division began to form all wizards and witches would spend as much time as it took to modify the memories of all the muggles on the planet.

Fortunately, the world had finally seemed to get the hint after the most bloody war for both warriors and civilians, that petty hate and jealousy led nowhere but more pain. The world was practically utopian at the moment, with all creeds, races, religions, magical abilities, and even different species getting along. Everyone with half a brain knew that it wouldn't last. That it couldn't last. It was only human nature to fight, even to almost the brink of destroying themselves. But for the moment, the peace was the most perfect part of life for all. There was always the hope that when people finally started fighting again it would only be small groups and the peaceful ways of the rest of the planet would be enough to put down the fights without much violence at all. It was just a hope and not a very likely one at that, but it kept most who had fought and lost so much in war going.

"You went far away," Harry whispered quietly, ending the kiss and bringing Ron out of his thoughts gently, "Where did you go?"

"Nowhere," Ron whispered back, smiling and placing a gentle kiss to Harry's neck, "Nowhere more important than here."

"Then why did you go?" Harry teased quietly, reaching low playfully and stroking Ron lightly through the fabric of his tuxedo pants. Ron hissed and arched slightly.

"I . . . I didn't mean . . . I . . . Harry, stop . . . You distract me . . ."

"Oh, really?" Harry whispered, then drew his tongue along the shell of Ron's ear as he skillfully undid Ron's belt with one hand, "What makes you think that's not exactly what I was trying to do?"

"You're drunk," Ron half-laughed, half-moaned when Harry reached into his pants and stroked him lightly through his boxers, teasing touches, feather light.

"Only a little," Harry told him with a smile, "It was a wedding. And 'Moine looked so beautiful. And Viktor was so handsome. And Lilith was so cute in that little dress Molly made for her. And everybody kept toasting what a beautiful family they were. It would have been rude not to toast them."

"You're very silly when you're just a little bit drunk, my love," Ron murmured, pressing his lips to Harry's neck and drawing a pleasant blush to the surface of his skin by sucking lightly. Two could play at the teasing game. Ron continued to kiss at Harry's neck, lick at the same spot, as he slipped his hand under Harry's tuxedo shirt, under his undershirt, so that his hand met with the warm skin of Harry's body, traveled on the warm, familiar planes of Harry's abdomen, then up to his chest, resting over a nipple, rubbing lightly, teasing.

Harry gasped and arched his back, then looked at Ron with a half accusatory pout, half knowing smile, "You took control."

"Only a little," Ron whispered, then stopped teasing, took his hand out from under Harry's shirt and wrapped it once more around his waist. Harry took the signal from his lover well and took his hand from Ron's pants to set it to his arm, the other he kept resting on Ron's hip, "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" Ron felt almost breathless looking into Harry's eyes. The eyes that had captivated him before he even understood why. The eyes that had kept him sane when he was trapped in his mind for so long.

"About as much as I love you?" Harry questioned quietly, his voice taking on the same breathless quality as Ron's.

"That better be more than anything," Ron smiled and set his forehead to Harry's.

"Absolutely," Harry smiled, looking into Ron's eyes. Slowly, he bit his lip, and got the look in his eyes that Ron knew meant he wanted to ask something, but was afraid that Ron would be offended or get angry.

"What is it?" Ron rubbed a hand up and down his back gently.

"Ron, I never quite understood. Voldemort told me that there was nothing I could do to break the spell. And then, after he died, you were still sleeping when I woke up. What happened? How did you find your way back to me?"

Ron closed his eyes and began to speak, his voice quiet and low, "For once in all of his miserable existence, Harry, Voldemort told the truth. There was nothing you could do to break the spell on me. It was something I had to do. Everyday you would come to me, no matter what, without fail. Every single day I heard you speaking to me. I could hear the pain in your voice, the loneliness, and then, after my father gave you the letter, the love. I don't think Voldemort intended his spell to do it, but I also don't think that it could have gone any better if he'd intended it to happen. I went nearly crazy knowing that the only thing separating us was the fact that I couldn't wake up due to the damned spell. I almost had it so many times, but there was always just a little bit missing. Just the smallest bit of energy, of life, preventing me from opening my eyes. Then, when you were sleeping, something deeper connected us. And there we were, in our dream house, Harry, just you and me. And we got to talk, just how I'd always wanted us to talk."

"I remember," Harry interrupted quietly, "For so long, I thought it was just a dream. But, it wasn't, was it?"

"No, Harry. It wasn't just a dream. It was as real as anything can be. And in that moment, finally getting to hold you, I knew what I needed for you to do. And I knew you loved me. I knew you'd do it and you did."

"Did what?"

"You kissed me. You gave me your love. And with your love you gave me that little bit of life I needed to open my eyes. To look at you. To finally be able to tell you in real life how much I loved you."

"I love you, Ron."

"I love you, Harry. Take me to bed. Make love to me."

"As you wish, my love."

They stood quietly and, without a word, walked hand in had to the bedroom. With a flick of his wrist the candles that Harry had placed in the room earlier in the day all lit and filled the room with flickering, beautiful light. He smiled when Ron looked around the room in wonder and looked back at him. Harry just shrugged. He'd known that morning that after Hermoine's wedding, they would both be feeling a little bit sentimental and a night of romance would be just what they needed, especially considering that their own wedding was just a couple of months away.

They undressed each other in the flickering light, taking off one article of clothing at a time, slowly undoing buttons, kissing bare skin as it was revealed. Harry moved his hands under Ron's white tank top and pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder before pulling it over his head. Ron placed small butterfly kisses down Harry's jaw and collar bone as he undid Harry's belt and slid his pants down over his hips. When they were both finally completely nude, Harry placed one hand to Ron's hip, cupped the back of his neck with the other, and leaned in to kiss his tall lover. Ron wrapped one arm around Harry's shoulder, cupped his face with the other, and met Harry's lips with his own.

The kiss started gently, a tender meeting of lips and tongues that expressed their love for each other, but soon enough Harry demanded more by pressing closer to Ron, making their hips meet and their erections rub. Ron moaned into the kiss and soon it became a battle for dominance between the two of them. Harry's hand moved into Ron's long ginger hair and gripped tight. Ron's hand on his shoulder began to tighten almost hard enough to bruise. Soon enough, though Ron backed down from the kiss. Sometimes he liked to win, sometimes he wanted to be the dominant in the bedroom, but tonight he wanted Harry to make love to him. So, he let Harry win.

"I love you," Ron whispered, and began to lower himself to his knees, pressing light, chaste kisses to Harry's nose, his neck, his chest, his belly button, as he went. He smiled when he felt Harry's breath hitch as he just knelt for a moment, admiring Harry's cock, proud and fully erect, before him. He leaned closer, so that his lips almost met Harry's erection and breathed out in a slow, concentrated stream.

"Ron," Harry's voice was breathless and almost desperate, "Ron, please don't tease me."

Ron smiled, took hold of Harry's hips, and kissed his erection. Harry's hips jerked in his hands, but his grip was strong and kept him where he was. Ron loved how responsive Harry was. He loved how hard he could make his black-haired lover. He loved how hard Harry could make him. Gently, slowly, he took the head of Harry's cock in his mouth, swirled his tongue around it, loving the taste. He felt Harry's hands fist in his hair and smiled, moaning around Harry's cock, knowing his strong lover had a weakness for the vibrations caused by vocalizing during oral sex. He heard Harry's gasp and could just imagine his lover, head thrown back, eyes closed, glasses just about to fall off the end of his nose. He closed his eyes and moved, taking as much of Harry in his mouth as he could, alternating between sucking and swirling his tongue. He could feel Harry getting harder in his mouth, knew he was about to come, and relished in the fact until Harry pushed him away gently.

"Don't want to come yet, love," Harry whispered, "Want . . ."

"I know . . ." Ron stood again and pulled Harry close. They fit so perfectly. They always did. He took Harry's glasses from the end of his nose, folded them carefully, and set them on the bedside table, "Make love to me."

"Yes," Harry nodded, smiled, led Ron to the side of the bed. He set a hand to Ron's bare hip, slid it down, cupped his ass tenderly, "Lay down. On your back. I want to look into your eyes tonight."

Ron nodded and did as he was told, moving to their large bed. It was one of the few things they had really indulged in when they were first starting out. It was large, ornate, completely impractical, but they both loved it. Ron positioned himself right in the middle, letting the goose down pillows cradle his head and neck, and spread his legs, ready when Harry knelt between them, the bottle of lube in his hand. He closed his eyes and arched off the bed when Harry's warm hand encircled his cock. He bit his lip hard and held back a moan as Harry began to stroke him, long, slow strokes as a lube covered finger probed at his entrance. He couldn't hold back the moan when Harry's finger entered him, probed a bit, then was joined by a second finger.

"Okay?" Harry questioned briefly. Ron just nodded. He was so much more than okay. He felt amazing as Harry scissored the fingers inside of him for a moment and then added a third, stretching and preparing him so that he wouldn't be hurt when Harry's large cock entered him. He swallowed a yell and couldn't help but arch off the bed when Harry's fingers struck his prostate and sent a wave of pleasure coursing through him and light sparking behind his eyes.

"Ready?" The brief word, questioning, was full of anticipation, almost pain.

"Please . . ." Ron panted, running a hand through Harry's thick, black hair, "Harry . . . please. Need you."

Harry crawled up Ron's body, kissed him thoroughly, and linked the fingers of their left hands. With his right, he led himself to Ron's entrance, pushed his head against the puckered entrance, and groaned when he slid in with ease. Perfect. It was always so perfect when he was inside Ron. It was warm and tight. It took him a moment to get himself under control. When he was topping, he always needed to make sure Ron came first. He was sure Ron wouldn't mind if he came first, but he loved to see the look in Ron's eyes when he tumbled over the edge. He stayed frozen, poised over Ron, wanting to move so badly, but needing to make sure that Ron was ready for him to move. He knew from experience, no matter how many times they made love, it always took some adjusting when they first started.

"Harry," Ron gasped under him, his right hand massaging Harry's ass, "Harry . . . move . . . please."

"Yes, my love." His tone was thankful.

Their entwined fingers gripped each other like a lifeline as Harry began to move, pulling out of Ron's willing, supple body almost to the tip and then plunging back in, stroking Ron inside just as his hand had stroked his cock. Long, slow, deep. Harry leaned down pressed his lips to Ron's, an almost chaste kiss that was meant to display affection, not passion. They had amazing sex sometimes, rough and hard, leaving pleasant bruises and marks. But, tonight, they were going to make love because Harry wanted to show Ron just how much he loved him. He wanted to show Ron that he echoed what had been said in the letter so long ago. Without Ron, he would die. It was as simple as that.

"Ron . . . Ron . . ." he panted, cupping Ron's face in his hand as his hips moved on their own, keeping their slow, deep rhythm, "Open your eyes. Look at me."

Ron did as Harry asked, blue meeting green, holding, telling each other everything they wanted to say. Harry knew he wasn't going to last long the way Ron's body was holding him, squeezing him. So perfect. So, he reached stroked Ron's face, smiled, and drew his hand down Ron's long body to hold his erection again, stroking in time to his thrusts.

Ron cupped the back of Harry's neck and smiled gently, unable to say anything. His body was on fire. Harry kept hitting the right spot and now his hand. Ron leaned up and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Harry's throat. He knew Harry wanted to make sure he came first and he loved him for it. And he loved the way the fingers of their left hands were still linked. He laid back again and looked back to Harry's eyes. He wasn't going to last, he knew it when Harry began to whisper under his breath in Parsletongue. He was sure Harry didn't realize he was doing it just as he was sure Harry didn't know how hot he thought it was. The pressure was building and he couldn't help but let out a quiet grunt with every stroke of Harry's cock and hand. So good. The heat pooled in the pit of his stomach and a light flashed behind his eyes again. With a strangled cry, he came, a slow burning orgasm that seemed never to end.

Harry could see it in Ron's eyes when he was ready to come, saw the light of pleasure, and felt his own orgasm begin. He felt Ron's hot seed in his hand, coating both their stomachs and chests, felt Ron's muscles tighten on him harder than ever, and lost it completely. With a low, guttural sound, he spilled his seed into Ron's body, a white light of pure pleasure covering his vision for a moment. Breathing hard, trembling as he came down from the intense orgasm, he leaned down and kissed Ron again, their tongues meeting and swirling lazily. He tried to pull away, only to feel Ron holding his hip tight against his warm body.

"Just stay here for a bit," Ron murmured, "It feels so good, just like this."

"For as long as you want, Ron."

"I love you, Harry."

"God, I love you, Ron. Thank you."

"For what?" Ron looked a little confused, even as he stroked the hard muscles of Harry's back to help him come down slowly from their mutual pleasure.

"For choosing me." The thanks in Harry's eyes was enough to melt Ron's heart and make him fall in love with Harry all over again.

"Thank you." Ron touched his face gently, just the tips of his fingers to Harry's lips.

"For what?" Harry moved ginger hair away from Ron's eyes, tenderly.

"For waking me up. This is better than any dream."


	10. Chapter 10

All previous disclaimers apply.

The mystic dark of the night, nursed and brightened slightly by the stars, embraced and held the large house to it like a lover would hold their beloved, safe and close. The warm yellow light pouring from the many windows melted easily into the comfortable darkness rather than cutting it off suddenly, inviting all who came near the house to join in the warmth and joy held within. It was the Christmas season again and just cold enough to make the stars bright and crisp, but not yet cold enough for snow. The house was supposedly too close to the sea for snow, but those inside had seen it in years past, so they knew that nothing was impossible. Inside the cozy home was an even more cozy scene of love and family.

Two eight year-old girls, identical twins with bright gray eyes and dark brown hair, giggled uncontrollably at the antics of a twelve year-old boy as he danced around with a pair of felt antlers on his head, singing off-key to a horribly cheesy and warbling recording of some classic Christmas carol, the title of which didn't matter considering you couldn't hear the words or tune above the shrill giggles of the girls and the playful howls of the young man. He ran to one of the girls, growling playfully, and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, picking her up and twirling her around. His own chocolate brown skin and pitch black, curly hair was in contrast to the girls' milky coloring, yet everything about the way they acted around each other, the affection they displayed, spoke toward the conclusion that the three were siblings. It wasn't long into their energetic game of chase around a large Christmas tree before the three collapsed in a heap of gasps and giggles next to a merrily burning fireplace.

"All right. Time to settle down. All three of you. Legend, I thought you were supposed to be helping them get ready for bed," There was warmth and humor in Ron Weasley-Potter's voice as he walked into the large living room with a tray that had a plate of gingerbread cookies he and his husband had decorated with their children earlier in the evening and five glasses of milk.

"Aw, Dad! They are ready for bed," Legend laughed, "They're in their pajamas. We were just letting out a little bit of spare energy, weren't we?" The young man turned to his sisters and smiled, nodding in an exaggerated fashion and winking.

"Yep!" Both girls answered at the same time, sending them both into hysterical giggles again.

"Girls, it's time to settle down now."

"Go easy on them, babe," Ron felt the jolt of electricity down his spine when his husband whispered in his ear and marveled that it still happened after nearly fifteen years of marriage, "It's Christmas and you know how much they miss Legend when he's at school."

"I know, Harry," Ron whispered back, setting the tray down on the low coffee table and smiling when he turned around to see Harry holding their newest addition, just ten months old and three weeks new to their family. Their best Christmas present, Annabelle had called the him when they had heard that the adoption had gone through. Harry and Ron had been thrilled when they had gotten the news that they were going to be getting a new little boy, but they had been even more thrilled that the girls were so excited. Annabelle and Corrine had been so excited that they hadn't been able to sleep for a week before they had gone to pick up Marcus from the agency where Nahane worked now that the war was over and she and George were married. Just behind Harry's leg, clinging to his jeans was their four-year-old Haven, their blonde haired, violet eyed angel. Her smile went wide when Legend crawled across the floor to her, stopped about two feet away, and began to talk to her quietly, calmly.

"Haven girl, do you want to come sit with me to hear Papa tell the story?"

"Yes," she laughed, 'Yes, Legend."

"Okay. Walk to me, Haven girl. I'm right in front of you."

Haven stretched out her hands in front of her and walked slowly toward her brother. She had been to three different homes before she had come to the Weasley-Potter household because none of the other families could deal with the fact that the beautiful little girl was slowly going blind. By the time she had come to them, all of her sight had been gone, but they had just taken it in stride and now they knew they couldn't possibly live without her in their lives. She was so even tempered and sweet. Sometimes her incurable blindness was difficult on them all, including her, but the love they received from her was worth any difficulty. Legend swooped her up in his arms, making her giggle, once she had touched his hands, and sat back down on the comfortable chair, settling her in his lap. Harry smiled and handed Marcus over to Ron, heading toward the bookcase to get their traditional Christmas reading.

When he turned back around his heart jumped into his throat and he couldn't breathe for a moment. He never actually got used to it. Knowing that Ron was his husband and that they had five amazing children. He hoped the fact would always take his breath away. Especially in moments like these when Legend and Haven were sitting quietly, sharing a glass of milk and a cookie, in the big chair. Ron was seated on one end of the couch, Marcus sleeping contentedly in one arm, the other he had wrapped around Corrine's shoulders as they rubbed noses and smiled at each other. Annabelle stood at the other end of the couch, an angelic smile on her face as she waited for him so that she could sit on his lap while he read.

He walked over to the couch, thinking about how his life had changed in the fourteen years and ten months since he and Ron had been married. They had come to the seashore fro their honeymoon not wanting to leave the country during the rebuilding process, even though they were assured that everything would be fine even if they left for a couple of weeks. But, it had been their choice not to leave, just in case. During a walk along the cliff shores, they had seen a beautiful house for sale. A large white house with wraparound porch and green shutters. The same house they had seen in their dream. They had bought it that very day and had three wonderful years in it with just the two of them.

Just as they were starting to long for children they had received a letter from Nahane stating that their adoption paperwork had gone through and that there was a little boy just waiting for them. His name was Legend. Four years later, the twins had come along. Six more and there was their little Haven. And just two years later, three weeks ago, their little Marcus to complete their family. They had wanted to adopt older children, war orphans, but there had been such an outpouring of love after the war that by the time they were ready to adopt all of the war orphans had been placed and the orphanages were back to adopting out infants. In a way, that was a good, thing, but they had been just the tiniest bit disappointed until they'd held Legend for the first time. He and Ron had worked with the Magical High Council for a time after their marriage. He was still there, but Ron had moved on to a position as official historian of the Council, put in charge of writing, without prejudice, the history of the war. He had been asleep for much of the war and so it was thought he would be unbiased in his research and writing. Everyone had been surprised how well he had taken to it and how much he enjoyed the research and writing, especially since it meant he could stay home and write and take care of the children at the same time. The only things Harry and Ron loved more than their jobs were their children and it was often said they would never compromise when it came to their children, even if it meant compromising at work.

"Who all is coming over tomorrow, Papa?" Annabelle asked as he sat down and she crawled into his lap.

"Well," he smiled and kissed her nose, "Grandma and Grandpa. Uncle Viktor, Aunt Hermoine, Lily and Tyler. Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur. Uncle Charlie and Uncle Draco. Uncle Fred, Aunt Katie, and Percy. Uncle George, Aunt Nahane, Angie, Minya, and William. And Uncle Neville, Aunt Cecile, and Marty."

"That's a lot of people," Corrine giggled.

"Yes, it is," Ron agreed, "And we're all going to be on our best behavior, aren't we?"

A chorus of yes met his half-joking question, "Good. Now let's all settle in to hear Papa tell the story."

Harry sat back and opened the book to the story they had read to their children every Christmas eve since they had gotten them, "Marley was dead to begin with . . ." Harry started, looking over at Ron. With his free hand Harry reached across the back of the couch as he read, linking his fingers with Ron's.

"I love you," Ron mouthed and Harry mouthed it back as he turned a page.

Thirty-five years old, married almost fifteen years and they still loved each other as much as they had the moment Ron had woken from his long sleep. Probably more. All because of a letter that Ron had been brave enough to write that Harry was never supposed to see. But, he was glad he had. Every day he was glad. Because now his life was everything he had ever wanted it to be. And that was a very good feeling. A very good feeling, indeed.

The End


End file.
